


Directive

by hjonesy



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Authority Figures, Biting, Daddy Kink, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 06:56:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6363988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjonesy/pseuds/hjonesy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For once, Hamilton is silent. Instead eyes do all of the talking; pupils blown while emerald flickers high and lips quirk into that devilish little grin. <br/>	A challenge. <br/>	It is always a challenge with Hamilton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Directive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [generaljas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/generaljas/gifts), [minmayhem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minmayhem/gifts).



> I have no excuse other than I am a sinner. Comments, and what not always welcome. Come talk to me! [Tumblr](http://www.alexander-slammington.tumblr.com)

He finds Alexander’s hands _elegant_ ; palms typically warm to the touch, fingers thin and nimble--- _always_ covered in smears of tar black ink. _Far more suited for a quill, than a musket_ , The General muses one particular day; even as those fingers curl about the edge of his desk in a vice like grip.

“ _ **Sir---**_ ” He is entirely too pretty like this, splayed about polished wood like a prize. _An invitation_. And the General approaches cautiously, _as he is always a cautious man_ , stopping only when wood bites into the flesh of his thighs through woolen trousers. For once, Hamilton is silent. Instead eyes do all of the talking; pupils blown while emerald flickers high and lips quirk into that devilish little grin.

A challenge.

> It is always a challenge with Hamilton.

The General accepts, brows knitted together in what Hamilton has come to recognize as concentration, and hands knock apart the aide’s legs so that he may settle between them. Frame towers above Hamilton even now, even while his General hovers not five inches over him, and lips descend upon the curve of pale neck. Hamilton _shudders_ , sputters while teeth nip and gnaw, his hands grappling for anything until they find purchase in the layers of his General’s coat.

“Sir---” he speaks finally.

“Hush, son.” Words mumbled into ashen skin, small kisses left against each drifting freckle that begins to trail down past the aide’s collar. Hamilton’s hips check high, prompting a savage attack against his pulse point at the hands of the General. Hands, callous clad, and massive in comparison to his own, grip tight to Hamilton’s hips while the two find that all too familiar back and forth while they rut, and grind against one another. And per the norm, Alexander simply ** _can not keep his mouth shut_**. The most pathetic noises slip past his lips, and at the most **dangerous** volume. The General can not, will not , have it, and soon mouth falls against his aides, teeth catching the younger man’s bottom lip.

“You need to calm yourself, son.”

“I do not think I can, sir.” Words spoken between breathless moans while his General's hands find purchase on woolen clad thighs, thumbs rubbing delicious little patterns oh so close to---

“ Then perhaps---” tongue darts out to wet dry lips while he retreats, and the whine that sounds in the back of Hamilton’s throat has him grinning. Still, hands remain at his thighs, so close, so wonderfully close to giving the young man just what he **needs.**

“Please, sir---” Alexander rises on his elbows, hair askew, rosy hues cast across the entirety of his face and down the nape of his neck. The General watches as he shifts, begging for that which he desires most, what he needs most.

“Then perhaps---" he continues his previous thought with out even so much as blinking "---you should return to your quarters.”

> "But-"

"That is an **order** , Alexander---" the General takes a different tone; totalitarian in nature, and one the aide can only _obey_. "--- from your _**Commander**_." And like that, it’s over, even if the tent in his trousers begs to differ. But Alexander can only _obey_ , as he always does. And feet find purchase against the ground  while his General watches, stoic demeanor back in play while both men right themselves for the public.

“Yes, _sir_.”


End file.
